


Bloody Lips

by orphan_account



Category: Death Note
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dual perspective third-person mini-fic with Light and Misa, the boy who could not love her and the girl who couldn't have been loved enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Lips

Misa slipped off her dress, dropping it to the wet floor and paying no mind to the fact it was an unreleased garment from the hottest designers in Tokyo, hand and custom-made just for her. She was humming to herself and she wrestled the pigtails out of her hair, a tuneless song that probably would have sounded angry, or perhaps full of longing, had anyone been listening. But nobody was home, and even if he was, the sound of the fan would have tuned her out. Not that he would have been listening.

As like many people, the young model found it easier to think alone in the shower: water hot and burning her skin yet at the same time not hot enough. She chewed her lips and winced under the onslaught of scalding water, rubbing shampoo into her hair. The new kind she had bought smelled like lavender and rose petals, and was advertised as "sexy" and "alluring" and "captivating." She could no longer remember why she had bought it, she supposed it must have been on sale. Nonetheless, it smelled pretty, and Misa did like pretty things, so she supposed it didn't matter much. When she stepped out, the blonde turned around to look at her reflection in the steamy, full length mirror hanging on the door. She examined her reflection carefully, poking at her hips to make sure she hadn't gained any weight, cupping her breasts with one hand to check that they were the same size and as perky as usual. The voice echoing at the back of her mind seemed to become more clear, reminding her that it was always there and it wasn't going to leave, no matter what she did. No matter what _he_ did. 

" _He won't love you til you're perfect."_ It whispered. _"You're not good enough."_ It taunted. " _You need to be better."_ It threatened. 

 She twisted a wet lock of hair around her finger, chewing, chewing, chewing on her lip. _It_ was making her think again. When was the last time they had been intimate? When was the last time he had called her 'sweetheart'? When had he last told her he loved her? Was it because she was too annoying? Too dumb? Too clingy? How could she fix herself? Misa shook her head, clearing it of all doubt and negativity like she had so long tricked herself into doing. Humming again, this time sounding more like a funeral march, she wrapped a towel around her waist and walked bare-footed to the bedroom she shared with him.

 Under the bed, there were three drawers, and the middle drawer had a false bottom. Cut into the floor there was a tiny rectangular compartment. Misa couldn't remember when she had first found it, but it had always been there. It was about the size of a sheet of paper… or a _magazine._ He kept his erotica in the drawer, catalogues of nude or scantily clothed, beautiful, women in compromising poses, sometimes with just as nude or scantily clothed men. She figured it was mostly for the women, that he bought them, the dazzling women with perfect bodies and hair and eyes. Sometimes she wondered if she should do these sorts of magazines herself, but the only person she wanted to see her so vulnerable was him, and he already had. Many times, even if "many" wasn't as quite as many as she wanted.

Flipping through an older issue of one, she eyed the ads for lingerie and sexy outfits. Misa knew the point of these ads was for the men to buy the outfits for their girlfriends, not for the girlfriends to buy them themselves, but he wouldn't buy something like this for her. He barely even seemed to bat an eyelash at the ones she bought herself, didn't even to do a double take when he walked in the door and she was in nothing but a maid outfit and a thong. Of course, that didn't keep her from trying, again, and again, and again.

************************************************************************** 

He wasn't surprised to see her in only a towel, wet hair staining the fine leather of the couch. She was painting her toenails, which seemed to transpire every other day, always the same shade of black. 

"Light!" she exclaimed, turning around to look at him. Her white teeth formed a perfect smile, her un made-up face still just as pretty, her eyes bright and full of young love. There was one thing off though. Her lips. Cracked, freckled with dried blood, skin choppy as if it had been chewed off. somebody else might not have noticed, but Light was familiar with the habit himself. He imagined she had subconsciously picked up on it from him. People like her: extroverted, gregarious. social, adaptable, tended to pick up on other people's traits in a desire to become more well-liked. It was understandable really, it was human nature, which is why Light hadn't made an attempt to call her out on it. 

Nodding to her, Light started untying his tie. "Busy day at work today," he started, keeping his voice level. "I think we got a new lead on the case, but I'm exhausted so I think I'm going to go straight to bed." Nice and simple, for the cameras, or in this case, recording devices. Misa pouted, glancing over to where she had laid out two places at the table with a rose in the middle, and a pair of candles. No doubt she had been hoping for a romantic evening, most likely even something more. But Light was having none of that tonight. Not that he had any of it most nights either.

When he went into their shared bedroom, the first thing he did was check the middle drawer under the bed. The false bottom was soundly in place, but when he removed it he noticed the magazines were in a different order than he had left them in. Most people wouldn't have picked up on something like that, but Light had made a habit of knowing the exact placement of things the way he left them, so he knew when somebody had gone through his things. In this case though, it wasn't that big a deal, he never let it on to her but he knew Misa went through his magazines often, most likely out of jealousy rather than anger. Truthfully, he couldn't care less about her touching them, it was all just for show anyway. It was all just a show. Even she was a show, a tool, a key, a pawn in the game. Light liked her because he liked what he could control. 

Of course, human nature always wanted _more, more more more,_ and while Misa had been fine with just being used at first, she had grown to desire his actual love, and had become unsatisfied without it, whether she knew it or not. He would never be able to give her that love though. But she would keep trying, and trying, and trying, and trying.

 


End file.
